Zoey Jane Devon wasn’t what you’d call a model student. In fact, she was the kind of girl you’d find sleeping in the back of the classroom, phone in hand, pretending to take notes when the professor wasn’t looking. A college freshman at 18, Zoey had a reputation that preceded her mischievous, lazy, and always a little bit on the edge. She had perfected the art of skimming by, of never really doing anything that was required of her unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then, she’d leave it to the last minute, always adding her own flair of chaos to the process.

Today, however, Zoey had a feeling that something was going to change. And, of course, she’d been right but not in the way she expected.

The moment she walked into the lecture hall, her eyes were instantly drawn to the front of the room. Ms. Agatha Monroe, or “Aga” as her friends called her, was already standing at the blackboard, writing equations with confident, practiced strokes. Zoey couldn't help but notice how elegant she looked. Even with her dark-rimmed glasses perched delicately on her nose, and her long, straight hair pulled back into a neat bun, Ms. Monroe radiated an aura of control, of intellect, of authority things Zoey was rarely interested in.

Zoey let out an exaggerated groan as she made her way to the back row, throwing her backpack onto the seat and settling in, half-heartedly pretending to get comfortable. This class, like all the others, was just another one to pass the time, to kill the hours before she could head to her dorm, check her social media, and fall asleep.

But as Ms. Monroe began her lecture, Zoey felt an unexpected tug in her chest. She hadn’t anticipated how captivating her teacher's voice would be, calm but with an underlying strength that seemed to command attention. It wasn’t just the voice. There was a stillness in the way Ms. Monroe carried herself, an assuredness that made Zoey feel like a misfit in the middle of a storm of discipline and grace.

“Zoey,” came a voice from the front of the room, cutting through her thoughts like a knife.

Zoey blinked, quickly realizing her name had been called. She snapped her gaze to Ms. Monroe, who stood at the front, waiting for her response. The entire class was staring at her now.

“Would you like to share your thoughts on the topic of today’s discussion, or would you prefer to continue your… nap?” Ms. Monroe’s words were laced with sarcasm, but it was delivered so smoothly, it almost felt like a compliment.

Zoey sat up, heart pounding, realizing she had been caught zoning out. The class waited expectantly, and a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of Zoey’s lips.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Zoey said with exaggerated confidence. “I think, um, the formula is totally wrong because, you know, math is just a series of numbers trying to confuse us. And clearly, whoever wrote this equation just didn’t understand that we’ve got better things to do than calculate infinity.”

The class burst into a few nervous chuckles, but Ms. Monroe didn’t crack a smile. Her gaze was sharp, piercing through Zoey as if seeing right through her lazy antics.

“I think,” Ms. Monroe began, her voice now cool and measured, “that you’ll find this equation quite useful if you plan on ever graduating from this university, Zoey. And I’d suggest you pay attention, because life doesn’t care about how bored you are.”

Zoey felt a strange heat rise to her cheeks. It wasn’t just embarrassment. There was something else, something like… challenge? Maybe even a little thrill. She had expected Ms. Monroe to be the typical teacher—dull, easy to mock, predictable—but this woman was something else entirely. She was sharp. Unyielding. Strong.

Zoey’s brain fought the feeling, but it kept creeping back in: the sudden fascination with Ms. Monroe, the way she carried herself. How could someone so serious and focused make Zoey feel like she was nothing more than a puzzle to solve?

“Are you going to be part of this class, Zoey?” Ms. Monroe’s voice cut through her thoughts once again.

“Uh… yeah, sure, I’ll try harder,” Zoey muttered, not quite meeting her gaze.

Ms. Monroe didn’t respond immediately, but there was a slight shift in her posture, like she was making some kind of silent judgment. Zoey couldn’t tell if it was approval or disapproval, but it definitely made her feel something she hadn’t expected. The usual ease of laziness that defined Zoey felt… out of place.

As the lecture continued, Zoey’s mind wandered, but it no longer felt like just another boring hour to waste. There was a shift happening within her, a tug of curiosity, even a sense of wanting to impress her teacher, which was new, and frankly, terrifying.

After class, Zoey gathered her things slowly, stalling, not quite ready to leave. Ms. Monroe was at her desk, scanning papers with such intense focus that it was almost like she was in her own world. Zoey debated making her exit as usual quick and unnoticed but then she hesitated. There was something she had to say. Or maybe, there was something she wanted to find out.

Before she could stop herself, Zoey stood up and approached the desk. Ms. Monroe looked up, surprised, but there was no hint of amusement in her expression.

“Ms. Monroe?” Zoey said, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Yes, Zoey?” Ms. Monroe replied, still holding her gaze.

“I, uh… I don’t really get what we went over today. I mean, I get it, but I’m just... not getting it, y’know?” Zoey half-said, half-asked. She couldn’t believe she was admitting this, but there was something about Ms. Monroe that made Zoey want to be real for a moment, for once.

Ms. Monroe regarded her silently for a moment, her eyes sharp and calculating, and then, to Zoey’s surprise, she pushed back from her desk and stood.

“Come by my office after hours. I’ll help you catch up.”

Zoey’s heart skipped a beat, her mind swirling. It wasn’t just the promise of help. It was the fact that Ms. Monroe had offered to spend time with her, outside of class.

“Okay. Thanks,” Zoey said, voice a little more breathless than she intended.

Ms. Monroe gave her a small nod, then returned to her papers, her attention fully back on the task at hand.

Zoey left the classroom feeling strange, like she was walking on a tightrope. What had just happened? And why did it feel like the beginning of something she hadn’t planned on?

One thing was for sure: Zoey’s college life was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Zoey spent the next few hours trying to shake the feeling that had been hanging over her since Ms. Monroe's offer. It was strange she wasn’t used to this. After years of coasting through school on minimal effort, the thought of actually spending time with her professor, discussing… math, of all things, felt like stepping into unknown territory.

What was she doing? This wasn’t Zoey Jane Devon, the girl who barely made it to class on time, the one who flirted with her friends and dodged responsibilities like a pro. She wasn’t supposed to be the type to try and impress her teacher. But something about Ms. Monroe’s quiet confidence had gotten under her skin in a way Zoey couldn’t explain.

After dragging her feet through the rest of the day, Zoey finally made her way to Ms. Monroe’s office. The hallway was eerily quiet as she approached the door at the end, a small, brass plaque reading: Ms. Agatha Monroe, Mathematics Professor. Zoey took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in," came the voice from inside soft, yet somehow commanding.

Zoey turned the doorknob and stepped into the small office, her nerves suddenly rising. Ms. Monroe was sitting behind a cluttered desk, her glasses perched on her nose as she sifted through papers. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled to the brim with textbooks, papers, and a few decorative plants. A whiteboard stood in one corner, full of scribbled equations. It was a cozy, almost comforting space nothing like the intimidating presence Ms. Monroe had in class.

"Zoey," Ms. Monroe greeted, looking up from her papers, her expression unreadable. "I’m glad you made it."

Zoey felt a jolt in her chest at the way Ms. Monroe said her name. It wasn’t like before, when she’d addressed her in front of the whole class with just a hint of sarcasm. This was different more intimate, almost… warm.

"Yeah, I wasn’t sure if you were, like, serious about the whole catching up thing," Zoey admitted, feeling her cheeks flush as she walked further into the room. "I don’t usually… um, ask for help."

Ms. Monroe raised an eyebrow, setting her pen down. "I figured that much. But you showed up anyway. That says something."

Zoey shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of why she’d decided to come. Maybe it was because, despite her laid-back attitude, she really did want to understand the material. Maybe it was because Ms. Monroe was different unlike any teacher Zoey had ever encountered. There was something about her that made Zoey feel like she wasn’t just a lazy student anymore. She was… a person.

"So," Zoey said, trying to clear the awkwardness, "what’s the deal with that equation? It looked pretty simple in theory, but when you explained it, I swear my brain just short-circuited."

Ms. Monroe smiled slightly, and Zoey swore her heart skipped a beat.

"Let’s start with the basics," Ms. Monroe said, standing up and walking to the whiteboard. "You’re having trouble with the concept of variables, right?"

Zoey nodded, trying to suppress the feeling of being completely out of her depth. "Yeah, it’s like… I get it, but then I don’t, you know?"

Ms. Monroe turned to face her, her gaze softening. "It’s okay. Most students don’t grasp it the first time. It’s all about patterns. Think of it like a puzzle. You just need to figure out the right pieces."

Zoey swallowed, feeling a strange warmth wash over her as Ms. Monroe continued explaining. She was calm, patient, not at all frustrated with Zoey’s cluelessness. There was a certain kind of grace in the way she spoke like everything was always under control, and Zoey was just a small piece in a bigger picture.

It was a weird feeling, the kind of feeling you don’t expect to get from someone you’ve only seen in a classroom. Zoey was used to seeing her professors as distant figures authoritative, often impersonal. But Ms. Monroe… Aga, Zoey reminded herself, felt different. There was something intriguing about her calmness, about the way she carried herself as if she wasn’t just a teacher, but someone who truly knew the world and how to navigate it.

After a while, Zoey found herself genuinely listening. Ms. Monroe’s explanations didn’t feel like lectures. They felt like lessons not just about math, but about life.

"Okay, so this is how it works," Ms. Monroe said, drawing a complicated-looking equation on the board. "You see this? It's not just about finding the answer. It's about understanding the relationship between these numbers, between these variables."

Zoey stared at the chalkboard, trying to follow along. Ms. Monroe’s voice was like a steady anchor, guiding her through the waves of confusion. The world outside this office felt distant, like everything was narrowed down to this moment, this room, with Ms. Monroe’s presence wrapping around her like a quiet storm.

"So, what I’m saying is," Ms. Monroe continued, her back to Zoey now as she worked on the board, "you can’t just passively absorb information. You need to engage with it. Ask questions. Be curious."

Zoey leaned in slightly, her eyes following Ms. Monroe’s movements. There was something so hypnotic about the way Ms. Monroe worked, like she was unraveling mysteries right before Zoey’s eyes.

"I guess I never thought about it like that," Zoey admitted, her voice quieter than usual. "Usually, I just wait for stuff to make sense. I don’t… engage with it."

Ms. Monroe paused, glancing over her shoulder. Her eyes softened. "You’re not the only one. A lot of students do that. But you’re here now, and that’s what matters."

For a moment, Zoey thought she saw something else in Ms. Monroe’s eyes something warmer, something more than just the professional distance of a teacher. It sent a flutter of discomfort through her chest. Was she reading too much into it?

"Let’s move on," Ms. Monroe said quickly, turning back to the board. Zoey, trying to shake the strange feeling creeping up her spine, focused harder on the lesson.

The next hour passed in a blur. It wasn’t just the math. It was the way Ms. Monroe's presence filled the room, her calm energy slowly pulling Zoey out of her usual haze. By the time they wrapped up the session, Zoey realized she understood the material far better than she had in class.

"You got it," Ms. Monroe said with a satisfied nod as she looked over Zoey’s notes. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Zoey’s lips tugged into a small grin, more to herself than to Ms. Monroe. "No. I guess it wasn’t."

Ms. Monroe gave her a small, approving smile. "I’m glad to see you took it seriously. I can tell when students care. It makes all the difference."

Zoey’s heart skipped. Was that a compliment? Her usual cocky, carefree demeanor seemed to falter under Ms. Monroe’s gaze. She wasn’t sure why, but the simple praise made her feel something… something she wasn’t ready to admit.

"Thanks," Zoey said quietly. "I—I’ll try to keep up from now on."

"Good," Ms. Monroe replied, her tone lighter now, almost amused. "And if you ever need help again, you know where to find me."

Zoey nodded, suddenly aware of how close she was to Ms. Monroe. She quickly grabbed her backpack, wanting to escape the tension that was slowly building between them.

As she turned to leave, she paused at the door.

"Ms. Monroe…" Zoey started, her voice hesitant. "You’re… not so bad for a teacher."

Ms. Monroe’s lips quirked in a half-smile. "I’ll take that as a compliment, Zoey."

Zoey grinned, though it was nervous now. "Yeah, well, don’t get used to it."

With that, she quickly left the room, her heart racing as she tried to process what had just happened. She wasn’t sure where this was heading, but one thing was for certain: Zoey Jane Devon’s college life had just become a lot more interesting.

Zoey had tried to shake off the odd feeling that lingered after her late-night study session with Ms. Monroe. The next few days passed in a blur of lectures, assignments, and, of course, her usual distractions. She had managed to slip into her familiar routine, but there was something—something in the back of her mind—that refused to let go. Every time she saw Ms. Monroe, whether in class or in the hallways, she couldn’t help but feel her pulse quicken, like her body was aware of something her mind was still too stubborn to admit.

It was Monday afternoon when it happened again. Zoey was strolling down the hallway toward her next class, earbuds in, half-listening to a playlist she’d downloaded weeks ago. She was trying her hardest to focus on something—anything—to distract herself from the nagging sensation that kept creeping back.

Just as she rounded the corner, a voice from behind her stopped her in her tracks.

"Zoey."

Her heart skipped. Zoey pulled one earbud out and turned. Ms. Monroe stood just a few feet away, holding a stack of papers in her arms, her expression unreadable.

"Hey, Ms. Monroe," Zoey said, trying to sound casual, but her voice cracked, betraying her nervousness. She quickly added, "What’s up?"

Ms. Monroe’s lips twitched, though her expression remained mostly serious. "I wanted to talk to you about your last assignment. I noticed you made some progress, but there are still a few areas that need work."

Zoey’s stomach sank. She had been hoping she could coast by on the bare minimum, but of course, Ms. Monroe was paying attention to every little detail. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

"Uh, sure," Zoey replied, trying to keep it together. "What exactly do I need to fix?"

Ms. Monroe looked at her for a long moment before responding. "I think you’re starting to understand the concepts, but you’re still approaching it with the same casual attitude. You need to engage more with the material, Zoey."

Zoey felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Was she being reprimanded? No, not exactly. But the way Ms. Monroe said her name, almost like a challenge—stirred something in her. It was a quiet push, one that felt almost personal.

"I will. I promise," Zoey muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Ms. Monroe’s eyes softened just a little. "I know you can do better. But it’s up to you to put in the effort. Just don’t wait until it’s too late."

Zoey nodded absently, trying to hide the flicker of frustration bubbling up inside her. She wasn’t used to this level of attention. Most professors let her slide by, content to let her do the bare minimum. But not Ms. Monroe. She saw through Zoey’s facade, and that was both irritating and… strangely thrilling.

Before she could say anything else, Ms. Monroe shifted the papers in her hands, and with a final glance, she turned to leave. "See you in class, Zoey."

Zoey watched her walk away, and her chest tightened. What was going on with her? She was so used to dismissing teachers, dismissing authority figures, with a shrug and a smirk. But Ms. Monroe? Aga, Zoey reminded herself, wasn’t like the others. There was something magnetic about her, something that pulled Zoey in without her even realizing it.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of thoughts and distractions. Zoey couldn’t stop thinking about Ms. Monroe’s words. She could do better. She could engage with the material. But it felt different when she was sitting across from Ms. Monroe—something about the way she’d looked at Zoey, almost as if she expected more from her.

By the time evening rolled around, Zoey had decided to put it to the test. It wasn’t just about math anymore. It was about Ms. Monroe’s challenge. It was about proving, even if only to herself, that she could rise to the occasion. So, with the same reckless abandon she applied to everything else in her life, she pulled out her textbooks and cracked them open, determined to at least try to make sense of the numbers and symbols that had always felt like a foreign language.

Her phone buzzed halfway through the evening, snapping her out of her concentration. Zoey picked it up, expecting a random text from one of her friends. But instead, it was an email from none other than Ms. Monroe. The subject line read: Follow-Up on Your Assignment.

Zoey hesitated before opening it, unsure of what to expect. The email was simple, almost businesslike, but it ended with a single line that made her heart race:

If you’d like to go over the material in more depth, I’m available after hours. Just let me know.

Zoey’s fingers hovered over her phone screen. The invitation hung in the air like a challenge. It was clear Ms. Monroe was offering to help again, but there was something about this that felt different. There was no sarcasm, no hidden meaning in the way Ms. Monroe phrased it. It felt… personal.

Without thinking too much about it, Zoey quickly typed a response.

I’ll come by at 8.

She stared at the screen for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. What had she just done? It was one thing to have a study session with Ms. Monroe in the middle of the day, but this was different. This was after hours. This was... personal.

The rest of the evening was a blur as Zoey tried to get ready for what was to come. She couldn’t figure out if she was nervous because of the material or because of Ms. Monroe—or maybe it was both.

When Zoey finally walked into Ms. Monroe’s office at 8:00 PM, the familiar hum of uncertainty rushed over her. This was different. The office was quieter now, the soft overhead lights casting a warm glow over the room. Ms. Monroe was already there, sitting at her desk, papers neatly arranged in front of her.

"Zoey," she said with a gentle smile, looking up from the stack of papers. "I’m glad you came."

Zoey felt the knot in her stomach tighten. "Yeah. I thought I should actually try this time," she replied, forcing a smile that felt awkward on her lips.

Ms. Monroe’s eyes softened as she gestured for Zoey to sit down. "I’m glad to hear it. We’ll go over the assignment together, and I’ll answer any questions you have."

As the session continued, Zoey found herself more engaged than she had ever been in a study session. Ms. Monroe’s explanations felt like more than just a lesson; they were a quiet dance between two people, a subtle tension building between them that neither could ignore. Zoey didn’t know what it was—whether it was the way Ms. Monroe’s voice dropped when she explained something in detail or the way her fingers moved as she wrote on the whiteboard—but Zoey couldn’t stop watching her. There was a magnetism to her presence, something she couldn’t quite place.

At one point, Zoey found herself leaning forward, eyes fixed on Ms. Monroe’s hands as she drew out a complicated equation. The air between them felt thicker now, charged with an unspoken understanding. Zoey wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but every time she glanced up, Ms. Monroe’s eyes seemed to linger just a little longer on her.

The night felt like it was stretching on forever, the boundaries between student and teacher blurring in a way Zoey didn’t know how to explain. By the time they finished, the clock on the wall had ticked past midnight, and Zoey realized she didn’t want to leave. There was something about this moment—about Ms. Monroe—that felt different from anything she’d ever experienced.

"Well," Ms. Monroe said, gathering her papers with a satisfied smile, "I think you’ve made great progress tonight, Zoey."

Zoey nodded, unable to form words. Her mind was too busy racing with thoughts she didn’t know how to process.

"Goodnight," Ms. Monroe said, standing up and walking toward the door, the briefest of smiles crossing her lips. "See you in class."

Zoey walked out into the hallway, her heart thundering in her chest. What was this? What was she feeling?

And why was it so hard to admit that this wasn’t just about math anymore?